


Little Death

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been lovers for only a short time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Death

Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,  
Et teneam moriens deficiente manu.*  
\--Albius Tibullus

 

They had been lovers for five days, three hours, and twenty-one minutes. And in that time they had made love six times. Six times and still Blake could not get enough of touching, of kissing, of hearing Avon moan.

It had been easy to tumble into bed, wrestling until they were both naked. Easy to fuck Avon until he sobbed and moved impatiently at the gentlest of Blake's touches.

Guilt made it easy. His guilt, Avon's guilt. It was the chain that bound them together.

Avon was at his side even now. In his bed, turned away, sprawled on his stomach, face pressed against his forearm. The distance of their bodies was the only one afforded them now. Now that they had misunderstanding and three blaster shots between them.

As always he bridged that distance.

He touched Avon's back, running his fingers down the bump of spine to trace and cup the curve of his arse. Then he drew them upward, playing with the hair that curled, damp and soft against the back of Avon's neck. Softly he kissed the hair, letting it tickle his lips and breathed in the smell of sweat and skin. He licked away the traces of sweat-salt on the skin where neck met shoulder, sucking until he left a bruise. Avon would hide it with a high-collared shirt.

Blake sighed and pressed his forehead to the space between Avon's shoulder blades. There he could feel the rise and fall of Avon's breath, the heat of his body, the steady cadence of his heart. Here, right here, was everything.

"Blake," Avon whispered in a sleep-thickened voice.

He wrapped his arms around Avon's waist and said nothing.

Avon leaned back, pressing his body against Blake's. "What time is it?"

He looked at the clock and thought, five days, three hours and thirty-two minutes. He said, "Soon, too soon."

"For what?" Avon reached back to stroke his flank.

"For love...lovemaking," he said, letting a hand slip between Avon's thighs, not caring that his words and actions contradicted. Five days, three hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty seconds.

After a short time Avon moaned and pushed himself into Blake's hand. "Not enough, not enough."

He turned in Blake's arms, fingers sliding into Blake's hair. His lips were red and parted and Blake pressed his mouth to Avon's again and again.

There would never be enough. Not even if they spent a million years together. Not even if they made love a million times. Never enough to appease the guilt and desire.

Five days, three hours, and the minutes kept ticking by.

*****

*May I be looking at you when my last hour has come,  
and dying may I hold you with my weakening hand.


End file.
